Irish Dreams
by rosiewitch24
Summary: Sheamus has a date.


_Just a little something for fun. Hope you enjoy it. Still don't own anyone but Katie. _

Irish Dreams

"I can't hear meself think in here!" Stephen shouted in my ear.

"What?" I yelled back.

He made a face, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the dancing, jerking crowd to the door to the courtyard. He shoved the door open, the quiet of the courtyard almost enough to make up for the haze of smoke we walked through. He guided me to an empty corner, propping his back against the wall and sighing.

"I said I can't hear meself think in there." He said with a grin. He still held my hand, and I pretended I didn't notice.

"We didn't have to come here. I really didn't think you're the type for industrial music anyway." I said.

"I thought you would like it. You and Maryse always come here when we're in Philly." He explained.

"I like lots of things Stephen," I grinned at him, "Come on, I have an idea."

This time I led him, guiding him across the dance floor to the exit. It was a cool night, and the wind had picked up, making me shiver. I was dressed for the club. Very short red, black and white plaid skirt, fishnets, Doc Martin's and a black corset. My short black hair was spiked and I had goggles around my neck. Steam punk baby! Stephen was in black jeans and a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up.

We walked quickly to my rental, and he handed me the keys. I didn't like to carry a purse in the club, so he had my keys and small wallet.

"Hang on a sec," I said, popping the trunk. "Let me grab something."

I dug in my bag, getting a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Stephen watched in astonishment as I unzipped my boots, kicking them off. I pulled my jeans up under my skirt, hooking them and then dropping the skirt. I threw it and the goggles in the trunk, pulled on the hoodie and zipped my boots back on.

"Ready?" I asked, slamming the trunk.

He was still staring at me. "How did you do that?" he asked.

"What? Change in a parking lot? It's easy." I took his hand, walking across the parking lot to the other street. Directly across from the club there was a small Irish pub. He shot me a grin, looking relieved.

"I think you'll be more at home here," I laughed. We crossed the street, and into the bar. The Clancy Brothers were playing on the juke box, and lit signs for Porter, Harp and Guinness decorated the walls.

We sat in a booth, and a cute waitress came and took our order. We were quiet until our drinks were in front of us.

"I was thinkin you'd want to call it a night lass," he said, lifting his shot glass.

I lifted mine and we toasted.

"Slainte."

I drank my shot, putting the glass down and picking up my Porter. Stephen had finally relaxed, slouched comfortably in the booth, arm resting on the table.

"This doesn't seem like your kind of place, Katie girl. You seem more like across the street."

"It's whatever Stephen. Like I said, I like a lot of things," I reached across the table, sliding my hand into his. He smiled, his whole face lighting up. God, you're cute, I thought. I loved the red hair and oddly trimmed beard, not to mention the big muscular body.

There was a small dance floor, with a few couples swaying on it. One of my favorite songs came on, the Whistling Gypsy Rover, and I tugged on his hand.

"Dance with me?" I asked.

We rose, crossing to the dance floor. He swept me into his arms. I closed my eyes, drifting on the music, enjoying the strong arm around me. As the song wound to its end he spun me out, bowing in an old courtly manner. I curtsied, and we went back to the table.

We had a few more drinks, chatting about anything that crossed our minds. Pretty soon a sing along began, and we joined in, moving to the bar, The Irish Rover, The Wild Rover, Finnegan's Wake, we sang along to all of them. A man with a pennywhistle at the end of the bar began playing Danny Boy, a song that always makes me sad. Stephen's voice rose, singing the sad song. His voice was beautiful, and tears came to my eyes. The pennywhistle player began the second verse, and I was blown away to hear Stephen sing it in Gaelic. The tears slipped slowly down my cheeks. The song ended, and the bar erupted in clapping and whistling. Stephen blushed, and I wrapped my arms around him, kissing his cheek. He turned me and wrapped me in his big arms and held me while the sing along continued.

Eventually we moved back to our table. I had exceeded my alcohol limits, and I was a little unsteady on my feet. I thought that I better switch to soda if I wanted to drive back to the hotel later. The waitress followed us, bringing more shots from Stephen's fans.

Oh well, that's what taxies are for, I thought, taking another shot.

"I hope I didn't ruin your good time tonight Katie girl. I know you'd rather be dancin'." Stephen finally said, frowning into his beer glass.

"Bullshit Stephen. I told you, I like other things than dancing. You should know that by now." I stood, moving to his side of the table and sitting, sliding close to him. "Sword fighting for example." I had been sparring with him for a couple months now, after catching him practicing alone. We got a lot of stares, since we didn't fence, we fought, using blunted steel. Of course, my sword was considerably smaller; I couldn't even lift his Claymore. I had worked at a Renaissance Fair through high school and college, as a jouster and fighter. Billed as a man of course, women didn't do that kind of thing back then.

"Aye and you're good at it," he said. "You certainly give me a run around."

I grinned. "Surprised you didn't I."

Whatever he was going to say got lost in the sound of fists hitting wood. We looked up, startled, at the half drunk idiot standing with both fists planted on out table.

"Look here, if it ain't the Celtic Warrior! Sheamus himself. Hey Sheamus, how is it you got your ass handed to ya by an old man?" The drunk asked sarcastically.

I looked around. Most of the bar was staring at our table. Damn, I knew we were headed for trouble. Most bars look down on fighting inside. Irish bars encourage it.

Stephen grinned. I knew from locker room gossip that he got into a lot of bar fights. Men just couldn't seem to keep from trying to take down the big Irishman. I had never heard that he lost either.

Discretion being the better part of valor, I slipped out of the booth, moving out of the like of fire. I really didn't want to be in the middle of this. The drunk kept heckling Stephen, until finally he got what he wanted.

It wasn't sweet, shy Stephen who came up out of the booth, it was Sheamus. I could see the look in his eyes, and knew there would be trouble.

They moved to the dance floor, and Sheamus unbuttoned his shirt, yanking it off and tossing it. The drunk had pulled off his tee shirt, and I couldn't help comparing them. Pale Sheamus looked like a statue of a god come to life, well defined muscles flexing. The drunk was fairly well built, but there was no chance he would win.

As I stood there, admiring the view, the waitress handed me another shot. I raised my glass to the men, downing it and slamming the glass to the bar. That seemed to be the signal to begin the festivities. Sheamus waited, letting the smaller man have the first punch. It was a good one, catching Sheamus dead in the jaw. Then the brawl was on. I hoisted myself onto a bar stool, enjoying the show. As the patrons cheered I drank my beer and waited. It didn't take long.

Sheamus roared as the smaller man hit the floor. He stalked off the dance floor, collecting back slaps, and made his way to where I sat. There was blood on his face, and his eyes were dark. He scooped me off the bar stool, crushing me to his chest and kissing me roughly. I could taste his blood, and heat rushed through me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, parting my lips and letting my tongue duel with his. I realized that we were now getting the cheers, and I pulled back.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

He lowered me to the floor, nodding. I pulled my little wallet from my hoodie pocket, throwing some money on the bar while he pulled his shirt on. He grabbed my hand and we walked out, men still cheering and whistling.

The cold air hit me, and I realized that I was too drunk to drive. I hoped that he could. When we got to the car, he pushed me against the cold steel, kissing me again, stealing my breath. I ran my hands up his chest, under his still open shirt, and around to his back, pulling him closer.

We were saved the embarrassment of having sex in public by the crowd of people emerging from the club. Must be 2 o'clock. I quickly unlocked the doors, scooting across the seat. He got in after me, slamming the door. I handed him the keys, and we got out of there.

It was a short drive to the hotel, but it seemed to take forever. I was on fire, wanting him so much. I ignored my seatbelt, gluing myself to his side, my hands roaming his body as he drove. We finally got there, and I had to grab my bag from the trunk. He took it from me, taking my hand and we hurried to his room.

Once the door closed, we were all over each other. I shed my hoodie, and he grabbed the top of my corset, yanking down, snapping the laces, baring me to the waist. My hands grabbed his hair as his mouth found my breasts, sucking and licking. My head fell back, sensation flooding through me. He cupped my ass in his hands, lifting me against him. He made the short journey to the bed, laying me down, taking off my boots. His hands moved to the waistband of my jeans, unhooking them and pulling them off. I lay there on his bed, with only my fishnet stockings on. I held my arms up, wanting to feel him. He threw his clothes off, covering me with his big body.

"Ah, Katie, I need ya so much," he whispered, pressing his hardness against me.

I arched against him, "Yes, now, please," I begged.

A cry escaped me as he filled me, almost too much to take, and he covered my lips with his, his tongue delving into mouth. He tasted of whiskey. I wrapped my legs around his back, and he groaned, sinking deeper into me.

"Oh sweet Katie, you feel so good," he murmured against my lips. I was beyond speech, only able to moan as his lips moved to my neck, his beard tickling and his mouth sucking at the tender skin.

My body was on fire, burning for him. I had wanted this for so long, wanted him. I raised my hip to meet his deep strokes, feeling the edges of my sanity unraveling, pleasure coming in waves, building higher and higher. It finally crested and I muffled my scream of pleasure in his shoulder. He followed me over, roaring as his back arched, emptying himself deep in me. He braced himself on his elbows, face buried in my neck. He was whispering softly to me in Gaelic. As our breathing returned to normal he moved to lie beside me, wrapping me tightly in his arms.

We drifted off to sleep.

I slipped out the door, into the still dark morning, my hoodie zipped over bare skin. The sky was just beginning to lighten as I walked quickly to my car. I got in and started it, pulling away from the hotel. I hoped he would forgive me, I had left a note on the pillow next to him, explaining that I had been moved to the blue show, and was leaving this morning.

I drove into the rising sun, tears in my eyes, knowing there is always a price to pay.


End file.
